


Call Me Pasha

by femmefatales



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Confessions, Fluff, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 06:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10871109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmefatales/pseuds/femmefatales
Summary: The moment McCoy meets Pavel Chekov, a name appears on his wrist. In other words: He's screwed.McChekov soulmate AU.





	Call Me Pasha

The first time Leonard McCoy locked eyes with the seventeen-year-old whizkid from Russia, everything changed. 

If McCoy had to choose one word to describe Pavel Andreievich Chekov in that moment, it would have been ‘a freak of nature’. Okay, so three words, but you get the point. The kid’s outward beauty was just plain absurd; his eyes were brighter than any gaseous planet Bones had ever seen (Bones repeated to himself over and over that this was merely an objective observation. The kid looked to be pretty young, after all). His hair, all warmth and curls, reflected his positive energy and his entire body exuded an impossibly deep intelligence. As thickly accented words poured endlessly from the young Ensign’s mouth, even Bones in all his pessimism could appreciate the work of art that was Chekov’s brain. 

All of these thoughts hit McCoy like a goddamn freight train, and he swayed on his feet as he took the kid in. Something wasn’t right, and he knew it; he’d never put so much thought into another human being at first glance. Beneath his standard-issue uniform his wrist began to itch, and he broke out into a cold sweat. Before he could stop himself, McCoy asked the boy how old he was. When Chekov replied with an enthusiastic: “Sewenteen, sir!”, McCoy had to take a deep breath through his nose. _Shit_. 

“Oh...Oh, good, he’s seventeen,” McCoy snapped, something strong and electric pulsing through his veins. _Good God,_ Bones thought with a pang of self loathing. _This better not be what I think it is._

As soon as the opportunity arose, McCoy bolted out of the bridge and to his bedroom. With unsteady breaths he took a seat onto his bed, placing his head in his hands. His wrist throbbed, and he was terrified to pull up his leave and look at his stinging skin. Most people never even met their soulmate, being as the odds were extremely slim, but this matched all the signs that McCoy had ever read about in Medical School. A genetic predisposition, that’s what this was; that was what every pair of soulmates were. With shaking hands, McCoy gingerly pulled up his sleeve. He blinked a few times and willed himself to look downwards.

Sure enough, there it was. “Pavel Andreievich Chekov” was burned in flowing script, right on the softest and most vulnerable underside of McCoy’s wrist. A wave of dread pooled low in the bottom of McCoy’s stomach. _Well,_ he thought, eyes dark with shame. _Guess my soulmate is a seventeen year old genius kid from Russia who also happens to be my colleague. I’m fucked._

~

McCoy didn’t tell a soul about his new discovery. He wore longsleeves constantly, no matter the climate, in fear of being discovered. And despite only being on friendly terms with Chekov, every mission that endangered him had McCoy losing his goddamn mind. It was torture, to say the least. 

A week after Chekov’s eighteenth birthday, Jim called McCoy into his quarters after a long shift. McCoy grumbled with every step, because Jim was most likely summoning him for something trivial and stupid, as usual. He’d called McCoy in on multiple occasions just to play alien checkers with him, or to whine about his crush on Spock. 

McCoy was surprised when he entered the room and saw his Captain eyeing him with a frighteningly determined stare. “Bones. Sit down.” 

“Uh,” McCoy said, taking a ginger seat on the Captain’s swivel chair. He _had_ to be planning something, the idiot. “Why’re you looking at me like you’re gonna eat me or something, Jim?” 

“Show me your left arm.” 

_Shit_. McCoy almost made a run for it, but with the was Jim was looking at him he knew that he’d been in for it later if he did.

“Jim, I--”

“Show it to me,” Jim said, eyes glinting. “That’s an order.” 

McCoy groaned. “Jim, for the love of God, I really don’t want to--”

“You didn’t seriously think you could keep this from me forever, did you?” Jim said with a devilish smirk. “I’m your best friend! So do it. Show it to me. How bad can it be?” 

McCoy groaned, but began pulling up his sleeve anyway. “Pretty damn bad.” He raised his wrist and stared at Kirk’s royal blue bedsheets. McCoy jumped a mile when Kirk snorted and fell into an obnoxious fit of laughter. 

“Bones!” Jim said, gasping for breath as he continued guffawing. “Its--it’s _Chekov_?! Oh man, this is rich!” 

McCoy glared daggers into his friend, who seemed unfazed. “It’s not something to laugh about, Jim, he’s still a kid and we work together--”

Kirk took a shuddering breath and grinned at McCoy from where he sat on his bed. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all month. Gonna send you both down on a mission, somewhere nice, so you can get to know each other a bit more,” Kirk wiggled his eyebrows and McCoy groaned. 

“I’m not planning on telling him, Jim, you imbecile,” McCoy explained. “He’s not twenty-one yet, so he has no idea!” 

“So?” Jim’s brows furrowed in confusion and he swung a leg up onto the bed, relaxing into a reclining position. “Why can’t you tell him?” 

McCoy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Somethin’ tells me Chekov isn’t gonna be too thrilled about having an almost-forty year old, divorced doctor as his freakin’ soulmate!” 

“Ah, come on, Bones,” Kirk said, waving a dismissive hand. “You’re hot! Bet he likes older men, too.” 

McCoy flushed and continued glaring at his Captain. “One of these days I’m gonna resign.” 

“Not before you get some of that sweet Russian ass!” 

“I hate you. I genuinely hate you, Jim Kirk.” 

“Love ya too, Bones.” 

~

Luckily for McCoy, Kirk decided to have mercy and refrain from forcing him and Chekov into an isolated situation. A week went by, and everything went smoothly aside from McCoy’s rapidly growing attraction to his soulmate. Whenever Chekov so much as smiled at him,it was as if McCoy had just shot up with some powerful alien drug. Chekov’s voice, mannerisms, even his accent had made its way under McCoy’s skin. It was killing him. It was driving him absolutely insane because the bright boy hadn’t the slightest idea. 

Boy, did McCoy have a storm coming. 

~  
McCoy was checking the fertility of a foreign humanoid female, a refugee from last week’s mission, when his Captain silently entered the sickbay. McCoy whirled around when he heard the familiar ‘whoosh’ of the doors.

“Good God, man! You can’t just sneak up on me like--” 

“Bones.” 

McCoy’s current train of thought dissipated immediately. Kirk’s facial expression was uncharacteristically grave, thick brows drawn together in emotional turmoil. Shit. 

“Jim? What’s going on?” 

Kirk sighed, stepping forward and placing a solid hand on McCoy’s shoulder. “I decided to come and give you this news myself because...I know what it’s like when, uh, when your soulmate is injured.”

McCoy’s face paled. “Chekov? He’s hurt?” 

Kirk nodded, but spoke before McCoy could begin to panic. “It’s not life threatening, just a pretty serious gash across his abdomen. Scotty should be beaming him up any second now. He’ll be alright, Bones. Especially when he has a doctor like you taking care of him.” 

McCoy couldn’t form words. 

Despite Kirk’s assurances that Chekov would be easy to treat, McCoy felt like throwing up. He’d only ever been this affected by someone else’s pain when it was his own child’s; it was as if the pain was his own, but worse. 

“Get...get him to me, Jim. Now.” 

“Someone should be bringing him down any minute. It’ll be okay, Bones. I promise.” 

Even the confidence in Kirk’s tone did nothing to quell McCoy’s fears. He said nothing, tapping his foot against the tile floor. His other patient had been forgotten, and Kirk took it upon himself to wave at her. 

“Is your patient in stable condition?” Kirk asked, snapping Bones out of his stupor. 

“Uh, yes. It was a fertility check. I’ve gotten all the information I need--”

“Ma’am, come with me please. I’ll get you a room,” Kirk gave the pink, three-eyed woman one of his charming smiles and she followed suit immediately. McCoy was overcome with gratitude for him best friend; he made a mental note to thank him later. Kirk grabbed the woman’s hand and guided her out of the sickbay. When he heard the doors shut, McCoy put his head in his hands and sighed, body shuddering. _Fuck_ he thought, anxiety twisting his insides. _Where is that kid?!_

Almost as if on command, the doors swung open. A young woman, probably a trainee, was holding Chekov up with one arm. He stared at McCoy, attempting to smile despite his obvious agony. 

“H-Hello, Doktor McCoy. Can you help me?” 

McCoy sprung to his feet, sliding an arm around Chekov and taking almost all of his weight from the young woman. She saluted to McCoy and turned around, leaving the two of them alone in the sickbay. McCoy guided Chekov, who was breathing quickly, to one of his many available medical beds.

“That’s it, kid. Lay down,” He set Chekov down with extra care, heart breaking at the pain in his eyes. “Easy now.” 

“Zank you,” Chekov breathed. McCoy noted that the blood was soaking through Chekov’s uniform, which was clinging to his slender frame. He helped Chekov out of his shirt, albeit clumsily; his hands were shaking nonstop. 

“Chekov,” McCoy's voice was strained. “You can't let yourself get hurt like this again.”

“Pardon? Vhy not? It is my duty as a member of Star Fleet!” 

“NO!” McCoy bellowed, slamming his fist into the surgical table beside him. Tools flew about; onto the floor, and onto the bed. Chekov gasped. 

“Doktor McCoy! I apologise if I said something that--” 

“Don't. Let's just...let's just get you patched up, kid,” McCoy's brain was buzzing with irrational anger, not directed at Chekov but rather at the bleeding gash upon the otherwise flawless skin of his chest. He took a breath and focused on the laceration itself in an attempt to steady his hands. This was a trick he'd learned in his many years of medical school. McCoy grabbed a sterile needle and swiped a numbing salve on the area. He set to work, plunging in one stitch after another almost mechanically. 

“Doktor?” Chekov asked, breaking the silence. His voice was small and hesitant. “Vhat is wrong?” 

“Wrong? There's nothing wrong!” McCoy's voice cracked at the end of his sentence, and he cringed internally at his obvious emotional turmoil. 

“I can see in your eyes,” Chekov said with more confidence. “Zat something is the matter. Please, tell me.” Chekov's eyes were huge and full of genuine concern. Distracted by the desperation and beauty of his soulmate, McCoy temporarily lost the ability to think straight.

“Damn it, it’s--it’s you!” He confessed before he could stop himself. “You’re hurt, and it’s messing with my head.” 

Chekov blinked a few times, confusion still written on his features. “But Doktor, you are alvays able to keep a lewel head when taking care of patients! Maybe you need rest!”

“It’s not that,” McCoy snapped, guilt blooding his chest when McCoy flinched at his sharp tone. “Sorry. It’s not that. You’re just...different. Than my other patients.” McCoy grumbled, tying off the final stitch. 

“Different? Different how?” Chekov was so naive, McCoy thought with a self deprecating laugh. The kid was worried about _him_ , even in this situation. 

“You’re not gonna like it,” McCoy said. Part of him yearned to keep this secret locked away for the next two and a half years, until Chekov turned twenty one. But the kid deserved truth, especially after such an ordeal. 

“I’m not? Vhy won’t I like it? Am I dying or something?” 

“No! God, no. Don’t think you’ll even have a scar. It’s just…,” McCoy cleared his throat and stood up, grabbing gauze from his supply closet. “I have your name. You know, on my wrist.” 

Silence. 

Internally, McCoy was panicking. Of _course_ telling Chekov had been a mistake, what the hell had he been thinking? But then Chekov spoke, voice soft and sweet. 

“Wow.” 

McCoy whirled around, mouth lolling open stupidly. “What?”

Chekov smiled through the pain of his injury, sweat beading atop his forehead, and reached a shaky hand outwards. He grabbed McCoy’s wrist, touch gentle and barely there. “May I see?” 

“Huh?” McCoy asked stupidly, stopping mid-bandage. “See what?”

Chekov tilted his head to the side slightly in confusion. “My name, of kourse.” 

To McCoy’s chagrin, he felt heat rise to his cheeks. “I--you want to see it?” 

“Yes, please, Doktor,” McCoy said, still smiling like a child on Christmas morning. McCoy was absolutely baffled, and giddy relief was clouding his mind. 

“Guess it can’t hurt. Let me hypo you with a painkiller, first.” He rummaged through his medical bag and pulled out a syringe. Chekov barely flinched when he jabbed the needle into his skin, and McCoy chuckled because even an eighteen year old kid was less of a wuss than Jim. He cleared his throat. “Feel better?” 

“Yes!” Chekov said brightly, color returning to his face quickly. “May I see now?” 

McCoy nodded and then rolled up his sleeve with an awkward, jerky motion. “Here.” He held his wrist out to Chekov, feeling naked and exposed. His fears were soon replaced by an unfathomable warmth, however, because Chekov was smiling brighter than the sun itself. 

“Amazing!” Chekov’s expression rivaled that of when he would discover a unique form of engineering, or when he admired the life on a new planet. 

“You...you’re really okay with this?” McCoy asked cautiously, shivering as Chekov smoothed his fingers over the raised skin. 

“Okay vith zis?” Chekov bounced excitedly. “More zan okay! I have had a crush on you since I first met you, and zis phenomenon is incredible! I am very lucky, Doktor. Not many people get to experience zis.” 

“O-Oh. Oh. Damn. Never would’ve guessed,” McCoy mused, almost unable to believe what he was hearing. “But I’m, uh...aren’t I a bit old for you?” 

Chekov shrugged, bare shoulders illuminated by the white light of the sickbay. “Perhaps. But I find zat it does not bother me. Ve are soulmates, after all.”

The breath caught in McCoy’s throat when Chekov’s eyes noticeably flitted to his lips. The boy blushed, having realized how obvious he was being, and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “S-Sorry, um, it is just--” 

Before Chekov could finish his sentence, McCoy decided to grow some balls and capture his slightly-open lips in a kiss. Chekov tasted like starlight, and McCoy was in awe. He most definitely had not expected this to go so well. The small noise Chekov made when McCoy deepened the kiss had him lightheaded. Pulling away took copious amounts of self restraint, and left Chekov flushed and breathless. A slender hand rose to his lips and he touched them almost gingerly, staring at McCoy with huge eyes. “I like zat.”

McCoy barked out a laugh and crossed his arms. “Glad to hear it. Really, really glad to hear that.” 

Chekov whispered something under his breath, looking at his hands. 

“What’d you say?” McCoy asked. 

“I-I said,” Chekov mumbled. “I cannot vait to spend forever vith you, Doktor.” 

McCoy hadn’t been this happy since he saved the life of his first patient. “I am too Chek--I mean, uh, Pavel.” 

Chekov giggled and leaned forward, kissing McCoy into eternity. 

“Call me Pasha.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this little story!! Writing this was a lot of fun. This was a request sent to my Tumblr by an anonymous user. If you have a promotion for me, please send it to sparklingfanfiction.tumblr.com/ask  
> Or, comment it here! Love, Kait!


End file.
